Harding of Allenwood

CHAPTER VIII
AN UNEXPECTED ESCAPE

"I cannot deny that we are heavily in their debt, and I shall take the first opportunity for thanking them. In fact, if I can make any return in the shape of practical help, I shall be glad. All the same, to have had them here would have meant our putting them on a more intimate footing than might be wise."

Beatrice smiled, but said nothing. She respected her father, but the thought of his helping such a man as Harding was amusing.

"From what I've heard about Mr. Harding, I don't think he would have presumed upon it," Mrs. Mowbray replied. "Besides, it looks as if we owed Lance's life to him and his companion and I really don't see why you object to the man. Of course, it was tactless of him to plow up our trail, but he was within his rights."

Mowbray looked at her sharply. His wife was generally docile and seldom questioned his decisions, but she now and then showed an unexpected firmness.

"I don't object to him, personally. For that matter, I know very little about him, good or bad," he said; and his tone implied that he was not anxious to learn anything more. "It is rather what he stands for that I disapprove of."

"What does he stand for?"

"What foolish people sometimes call Progress—the taint of commercialism, purely utilitarian ideas; in short, all I've tried to keep Allenwood free from. Look at England! You know how the old friendly relations between landlord and tenant have been overthrown."

"I wonder whether they were always friendly?" Beatrice interposed.

"They ought to have been friendly, and in most of the instances I can think of they were. But what can one expect when a rich tradesman buys up a fine estate, and manages it on what he calls 'business lines'? This must mean putting the screw of a merciless competition upon the farmer. On the other hand, you see men with honored names living in extravagant luxury without a thought of their duty to their land, gambling on the Stock Exchange—even singing in music halls. The country's in a bad way when you read of its old aristocracy opening hat shops."

"But what are the poor people to do if they have no money?" Beatrice asked.

"The point is that they're being ruined by their own folly and the chaotic way things have been allowed to drift; but the other side of the picture's worse. When one thinks of wealth and poverty jostling each other in the towns; oppressive avarice and sullen discontent instead of helpful cooperation! The community plundered by trusts! Industries wrecked by strikes! This is what comes of free competition and contempt for authority; and the false principle that a man must turn all his talents to the making of money is at the root of it all."

It was a favorite hobby of the Colonel's, and Mrs. Mowbray made no remark; but Beatrice was pleased to see that he had forgotten Harding.

"You would have made a good feudal baron," she said with a smile. "Your retainers wouldn't have had many real grievances, but you would always have been on the king's side."

"The first principle of all firm and successful government is that the king can do no wrong."

"We don't challenge it at Allenwood, and it really seems to work well," Beatrice answered lightly; and then, because Mowbray insisted on formal manners, she turned to her mother. "And now, with your permission, I had better go to Lance."

When she left them Mowbray frowned.

"There's another matter I want to talk about," he said. "I'm inclined to think we'll have to do away with the card tables when the younger people spend the evening with us."

"But you're fond of a game!"

"Yes. I'll confess that a close game of whist is one of my keenest pleasures, and if I finish two or three dollars to the good it adds to the zest. For all that, one must be consistent, and I've grounds for believing there has been too much high play of late. The offenders will have to be dealt with if I can find them out."

Mrs. Mowbray knew that her husband's first object was the good of the settlement, and that he would make any personal sacrifice to secure it.

"We can have music, or get up a dance instead," she suggested; and added anxiously: "You don't think that Gerald——"

"I'd have grave suspicions, only that he knows what to expect," Mowbray answered grimly. "Something might be learned from Lance, but it would not be fair to ask."

"He wouldn't tell," Mrs. Mowbray said stoutly, knowing her husband's sense of honor. "Do you think it's serious enough to be disturbed about?"

"I'm afraid so, although at the moment I can hardly judge. A game of cards in public, for strictly moderate points, or a small wager on a race, can do the boys no harm; but as soon as the stake gets large enough to be worth winning for itself, it leads to trouble; and systematic, secret gambling is a dangerous thing. As a matter of fact, I won't have it at Allenwood. At present I can do nothing but keep a careful watch."

An hour later Mrs. Mowbray was sitting with Lance, when word was brought her that Harding had called.

"Let him come up here, if only for a minute," Lance begged.

"Well, but it must not be longer," his mother consented.

Harding bowed to her respectfully when he entered the room; then he turned to Lance with a smile.

"Glad to see you looking much better than I expected."

Lance gave him his hand, though he winced as he held it out, and his mother noticed Harding's quick movement to save him a painful effort. There was a gentleness that pleased her in the prairie man's face.

"I don't want to embarrass you, but you'll understand how I feel about what you did for me," said Lance. "I won't forget it."

"Pshaw!" returned Harding. "We all get into scrapes. I wouldn't be here now if other people hadn't dragged me clear of a mower-knife, and once out of the way of a locomotive when my team balked in the middle of the track."

"I don't suppose any of the fellows gave you his clothes with the thermometer at minus forty. But I won't say any more on that point. Was my horse killed?"

"On the spot!"

Lance looked troubled.

"Well, it was my own fault," he said slowly. "I was trying a new headstall, and I wasn't very careful in linking up the bit."

He began to talk about the latest types of harness, and listened with obvious interest to Harding's views on the subject, but after a while his voice grew feeble, and his mother interrupted.

"You'll come back and see me when I'm better, won't you?" he asked eagerly.

Harding made a vague sign of assent, and left the room with Mrs. Mowbray. When they reached the hall, she stopped him.

"You did us a great service last night—I can find no adequate way of expressing my gratitude," she said.

Harding saw that she had not spoken out of mere conventional politeness.

"I think you make too much of it. Certainly, it was fortunate we happened to come along; the rest followed. But I can understand how you feel—I had a good mother."

She was pleased by his reply, and she had watched him closely while he talked to Lance. The man was modest and yet quietly sure of himself. He had shown no awkwardness, and his rather formal deference to herself was flattering. She somehow felt that he would not have offered it solely on account of her station.

"I'm glad to see your son looking pretty bright," Harding went on.

"You roused him. He was very listless and heavy until you came."

"I'm afraid I talked too much; it's a way I sometimes have." Harding smiled. Then he looked at her directly. "He asked me to come back."

Mrs. Mowbray knew he was shrewd enough to take a hint, and that she could without discourtesy prevent his coming; still, she did not wish to do so. She had heard her husband's views, to which she generally deferred; but she liked Harding, and he had saved her son's life. Moreover, she had a suspicion that his influence would be good for the boy.

"I hope you will come whenever it pleases you," she said with quiet sincerity.

"It will please me very much. I'll make use of the privilege as long as he finds that I amuse him."

Harding went home with a feeling of half-exultant satisfaction. Lance, for whom he had a rather curious liking, had been unmistakably glad to see him and, what was more important, Mrs. Mowbray was now his friend. For all that, he knew that tact was needed: the Colonel, while no doubt grateful, did not approve of him, and he must carefully avoid doing anything that might imply a readiness to take advantage of the slight favor he had been granted. Harding was not an adventurer, and the situation was galling to his pride, but he was shrewd and was willing to make some sacrifice if it gave him an opportunity for seeing Beatrice.

When Harding returned a week later he met the girl for a few moments, and had to be content with this. Lance brightened up noticeably when he talked to him, and as he was leaving pressed him to come again; but the unqualified doctor, whom he met in the hall, did not seem satisfied with the patient's progress.

Harding waited for a while before he went back. He found Mrs. Mowbray alone on his arrival, and thought she looked anxious when he asked how Lance was getting on.

"He doesn't seem to improve as quickly as he ought, and Mr. Carson's puzzled," she said. "He tells me the injury is not serious enough to account for my boy's low condition, but he keeps restless and feverish, and doesn't sleep." Then, after a moment, she added confidentially: "One could imagine that he has something on his mind."

"Have you any suspicion what it is?"

"No—" She hesitated. "That is, nothing definite; and as he has given me no hint, it's possible that I'm mistaken in thinking that he is disturbed. But you may go in; you seem to cheer him."

Harding pondered this. He had been used to people who expressed their thoughts with frank directness, but he saw that Mrs. Mowbray was of a different stamp. She was most fastidious, yet she had taken him into her confidence as far as her reserve permitted. After all, there were things which a boy would confess to a man outside his family sooner than to his mother.

"Well," he said as meaningly as he thought advisable, "I'll do what I can."

On entering the sick room he thought her anxiety was justified. Lance did not look well, although he smiled at his visitor.

"I'm glad you came," he said. "It's a change to see somebody fresh. The boys mean well but they worry me."

"You'd get tired of me if I came oftener," Harding answered with a laugh.

They talked for a few minutes about a sheep dog that had been given to Lance; and then, during a slight pause, the boy closed his eyes with a sigh. Harding looked at him keenly.

"I'm told you're not sleeping well," he said; "and you don't look as fit as you ought. I guess lying on your back gets monotonous."

"Yes," Lance answered listlessly. "Then I'm worried about losing my horse."

"One feels that kind of thing, of course; but it wasn't an animal I'd get attached to. Hard in the mouth, I guess, a bad buck-jumper, and a wicked eye. On the whole, you're better off without him."

"Perhaps you're right, and I meant to sell him. I'd had offers, and the Warrior blood brings a long price."

"Ah! That means you wanted the money?"

Lance was silent for a few moments, and then he answered half resentfully:

"I did."

It was obvious to Harding that delicacy was required here. Mrs. Mowbray was right in her suspicions, but if he made a mistake Lance would take alarm. Harding feared, however, that tact was not much in his line.

"I am an outsider here," he said with blunt directness; "but perhaps that's a reason why you can talk to me candidly. It's sometimes embarrassing to tell one's intimate friends about one's troubles. Why did you want the money?"

Lance flushed and hesitated, but he gathered confidence from Harding's grave expression.

"To tell the truth, I'd got myself into an awkward mess."

"One does now and then. I've been fixed that way myself. Perhaps I can help."

"No; you can't," Lance said firmly. "All the same, it's a relief to take somebody into my confidence. Well, I owed a good deal of money; I'd been playing cards."

"Do you pay debts of that kind at once?"

"Of course. It's a matter of principle; though the boys wouldn't have pressed me."

"I'd have let them wait," said Harding. "But I don't play cards. I suppose you borrowed the money from somebody else, and he wants it back. Now the proper person for you to go to is your father."

Lance colored and hesitated again.

"I can't!" he blurted out with evident effort. "It's not because I'm afraid. He'd certainly be furious—I'm not thinking of that. There's a reason why it would hit him particularly hard. Besides, you know, we're far from rich."

Having learned something about Gerald Mowbray, Harding understood the lad's reticence. Indeed, he respected his loyalty to his brother.

"Very well. If you'll tell me what you owe, and where you got the money, I may suggest something."

He had expected Lance to refuse; but, worn by pain and anxious as he was, the boy was willing to seize upon any hope of escape. He explained his affairs very fully, and Harding made a note of the amount and of a name that was not unfamiliar to him.

When Lance finished his story and dropped back among his pillows with a flushed face, there was a short silence in the room.

Harding was not, as a rule, rashly generous; but he liked the boy, and Lance was Beatrice's brother—that in itself was a strong claim on him. Then, Mrs. Mowbray had been gracious to him; though he was a stranger and in a sense an intruder, she had taken him into her confidence, and he felt a deep respect for her. There was in his mind, however, no thought of profiting by the situation; indeed, he was frankly reluctant to part with money which could be better employed than in paying gambling debts.

"So you went to Davies, of Winnipeg—a mortgage broker?" he remarked. "Who told you about him? These fellows don't lend to people they know nothing about."

"A man introduced me," Lance said awkwardly; and Harding again suspected Gerald.

"When you signed his note for the sum you wanted, how much did you really get?"

Lance smiled ruefully as he told him.

"You seem to know their tricks," he added.

"Some of them," Harding replied dryly. "Now, if you'll give me your word that you won't stake a dollar on a horse or card again, I'll take up this debt; but I don't want your promise unless you mean to keep it."

Lance's eyes were eager, though his face was red.

"I've had my lesson. It was the first time I'd really played high, and I was a bit excited; the room was hot and full of smoke, and they'd brought in a good deal of whisky." Then he pulled himself up. "But I can't let you do this; and I don't see——"

"Why I'm willing to help?" Harding finished for him. "Well, one's motives aren't always very plain, even to oneself. Still—you can take it that I've a pretty strong grievance against all mortgage brokers. They've ruined one or two friends of mine, and they're going to make trouble in this country. I'll give you a few instances."

He meant to frighten the lad, but there was no need to overstate the truth, and his face grew stern as he related how struggling farmers had been squeezed dry, and broken in spirit and fortune by the money-lender's remorseless grasp. Lance was duly impressed, and realized how narrow an escape he had had.

"Are you willing to leave the thing entirely to me?" Harding concluded. "You must understand that you're only changing your creditor."

"I can trust you," Lance said with feeling. "I can't tell you what a relief it is to get out of that fellow's hands! But I ought to warn you that he's tricky; you may have some trouble."

Harding laughed as he stood up.

"Oh, I can deal with him. Now you go to sleep and don't worry any more."

After he left, Lance lay for a while thinking over the conversation. He was puzzled to know what had prompted Harding to come to his rescue. The Allenwood settlers had certainly been none too friendly to the prairie man, who was considered an outsider because he believed in work and in progress. Lance thought that there was no selfish motive in Harding's offer. What, then?

He suddenly shook off the thoughts and, reaching out to a table by his bedside, rang a small handbell there. Beatrice answered it.

"I want something to eat," he said petulantly. "Not slops this time; I'm tired of them."

His sister looked at him in surprise.

"Why, you wouldn't touch your lunch!"

"All the more reason I should want something now. You ought to be glad I'm getting better!"

Beatrice laughed.

"It's a very sudden improvement," she said. "Mr. Harding must be a magician. What has he done to you?"

"Harding knows a lot," Lance answered somewhat awkwardly; then added impulsively: "In fact, I think he's a remarkably fine fellow all round."

Beatrice opened her eyes wide. Such an opinion from the son of Colonel Mowbray was pure heresy; but she made no comment. She kissed Lance lightly on the forehead and tripped off downstairs to order some food for him.

Somehow, she was inclined to agree with her brother in his opinion of the prairie man.

CHAPTER IX
A MAN OF AFFAIRS

From where Davies sat he could look into the snowy street; the view was far from pleasing. The blackened wreck of a burnt-out store confronted the office block, and behind it straggled a row of squalid shacks. Farther on rose a wall of concrete with rusty iron framing sticking out of it; and a mound of cut stone and sawed lumber, left as it lay when the frost stopped work, encroached upon the plank sidewalk. Davies, however, was not engrossed in the view, though he had lent money upon some adjacent building lots. A survey map of the Allenwood district lay on his table, and he alternately studied it and gazed out of the window with a thoughtful air.

The Allenwood soil was good, consisting, as it did for the most part, of stiff black gumbo; it was well watered and fairly well wooded; and it occupied the center of a fertile belt. Its position had other natural advantages, and the configuration of the country made it probable that with the first railroad extension a line would run past the settlement to the American frontier. Davies had reason to believe that his view was shared by far-seeing railroad directors; but, whether the line were run or not, the Allenwood farms would rise in value. Davies wanted a hold on the settlement; and he had, to some extent, succeeded in getting it. He held a mortgage on Gerald Mowbray's homestead; it seemed possible to get the younger brother into his power; and he was negotiating with another embarrassed settler. On the other hand, money was tight just then, and Davies' schemes were hampered by a lack of capital. He had written to Lance Mowbray, pressing for some interest that was overdue, and when the lad begged for time had curtly summoned him to Winnipeg. Now he was expecting him, for the east-bound train had arrived.

He heard steps in the passage and looked up with some surprise as two men entered his office. Their bronzed faces and their cheap skin coats suggested that they worked upon the land, but there was something in the expression and bearing of the taller man that contradicted this. Davies was a judge of character, and he read that something as a sense of power.

"Good-morning, gentlemen," he said, with a suave smile. "I don't believe I have an appointment with you, but I'm always open for business."

"My name is Harding," said the taller man; "and this is my partner, Mr. Devine. You were expecting Lance Mowbray, of Allenwood; I've come instead."

Davies would have preferred dealing with young Mowbray himself; this substitute made him feel somewhat uneasy. After careful inquiries into Mowbray's affairs, Davies did not expect to get the overdue interest. What he wanted was to renew the loan at a higher rate as the price of waiting.

Harding got down to business at once.

"Mowbray owes you some interest; I've come to pay it."

Davies' eyes narrowed.

"Rather a long and expensive journey, if that was all that brought you," he said with a sneer. "A check would have done."

"You seemed to think an interview needful; and I don't propose to bear the cost," Harding answered quietly. "Anyway, now that I'm here I'll pay up the principal, if we can come to terms."

"There are no terms to be arranged. I'll settle the account on receipt of the sum Mowbray borrowed and the interest."

"I'll give you what he got," said Harding coolly.

Davies pondered a moment. The offer had been a shock to him, for it suggested that Mowbray had found a way of escape. That meant that his hold on Allenwood would be weakened. Harding looked shrewd and businesslike; there was little possibility of hoodwinking such a man.

"Do you expect me to abandon my rights?" he asked.

"I'm here to look after Mowbray's. You charged him what you call expenses, which you didn't incur. Guess you'll have to prove them if you take the case to court."

"One has to make inquiries about the security when lending money."

"As a matter of fact, you knew the security was bad. Mowbray told you that his land was held in trust until he was twenty-one. What you traded on was his fear of the deal coming to his people's knowledge. I guess his brother gave you all the information you required."

Davies' start indicated that the shot, made at a venture, had reached its mark. He grew angry, but he quickly saw that this was no time to lose his temper.

"It's a pretty cool proposition you make," he said.

"It's fair, and I don't press you to agree. Stick to your full claim, if you like, and you'll get your interest on what you actually lent, but on nothing more until payment of the principal is due. Then we'll give you all the trouble we can. But your hold on the boy is gone now that you know the money's ready."

Davies was forced to recognize that his debtor had escaped him; and, as it happened, he was pressed for money.

"Well," he conceded, "it's a small matter, after all. I'll give you a receipt if you'll put down the amount."

"I'd rather my bank paid this; it keeps a record. Then I want Mowbray's note as well as the receipt."

Harding handed him a check, and Davies looked at it in surprise.

"You have made another deduction!"

"Certainly. You demanded an interview, and I've knocked off my fare to Winnipeg. Now where's the note?"

Davies produced it, and then looked at him with an ironical grin.

"It's all straight, and I hope you're satisfied. A farmer, aren't you? May I suggest that you have mistaken your profession?"

Harding laughed good-naturedly as he pocketed the papers.

"I don't know. My belief is that a farmer doesn't lose anything by studying business methods."

When they reached the street, Harding turned to Devine.

"I've learned something I wanted to know," he said. "That fellow has a mortgage on Gerald Mowbray's land. He's playing a deep game."

"I don't see what he's getting after."

"Allenwood. It's worth plotting for."

"I guess he'd find the Colonel a pretty big obstacle. Anyway, it's not our business."

"No," Harding replied with a thoughtful air. "As far as I can see at present, it's not my business.... Now we'll look up the steam-plow man."

They found the implement dealer disengaged, and spent the afternoon in his store before Harding, who insisted upon several variations in the standard design, finally ordered a steam gang-plow. The agent was struck by the aptness of many of Harding's suggestions about improvements, and he invited the men to his hotel for the evening. When they parted he frankly admitted that he had picked up some useful hints. He also surmised that Harding had learned all that was worth knowing about new machines.

The two men left Winnipeg the next day, and Devine went to report to Hester while Harding stopped at the Grange to see Lance.

The boy greeted him eagerly, and his eyes glistened with relief when Harding handed him the papers.

"I'll square it off, every dollar, as soon as I can," he said. "In fact, I feel so much about it that I can't express myself—if you'd been in my place, you would understand. I see he didn't claim all my note called for. How did you beat him down?"

"I knew the man I had to deal with," Harding smiled. "What you have to do is to keep clear of debt in future."

"I've given you my word; but I can't get out of debt to you." Lance looked at him with frank admiration. "You beat the fellow at his own game!" he exclaimed.

Harding held out his hand.

"I must go now," he said; "I promised to meet Kenwyne and Broadwood. We'll settle how you're to pay me the next time I come."

Mrs. Mowbray was waiting for him in the hall below.

"I want to thank you," she said to him. "I don't know what you have done to my boy, but he is so very much better."

Harding met the gaze she quietly fixed on him. He saw that she knew there was some secret between him and her son, but had confidence enough to ask no questions.

"For one thing," he answered lightly, "I've given him some good advice, which I think he'll act on."

"He seems to have a respect for your judgment—and I feel he's not mistaken."

"That's very kind," said Harding. "I hope I shall be able to keep your good opinion; though you may find it shaken by and by."

Mrs. Mowbray looked at him keenly, and then laid her hand gently on his arm.

"You have helped my boy to get better and, whatever may happen, that goes a long way," she said.

When Harding left her he felt that in Mrs. Mowbray he would have a staunch ally in his fight for Beatrice.

He returned to the Grange one afternoon about a week later, and found Beatrice alone. Lance, after his long confinement, had gone for his first drive, and his mother had accompanied him to see that he kept the robes properly wrapped about him. The Colonel and Gerald were at a neighbor's.

Beatrice gave him her hand cordially.

"I am glad of this opportunity for seeing you alone, because there's something I want to ask of you," she said.

"I shall do anything I can to please you."

"It's really something I want you not to do."

"Ah!" Harding smiled. "That's often harder."

They had entered a room which Beatrice and her mother used. It was not large, and it was scantily furnished, but most of the articles it contained, though worn and battered, were good. Curtains, rugs, and chairs were of artistic design, and their faded coloring was harmonious. By contrast with the rude prairie homesteads he had lived in, all that Harding saw struck a note of luxurious refinement. What was more, the room seemed somehow stamped with its occupants' character. Colonel Mowbray, he knew, seldom entered it; it was the retreat of the two delicate, high-bred women he admired. He felt it was a privilege to be there. The unusual surroundings reacted upon him, and emphasized in a curious way his companion's grace and charm.

For a few moments after they were seated, Beatrice was silent, gazing thoughtfully before her. Her hair shone where the light touched it, and reminded Harding of the glitter of a prairie lake on a breezy, sunny day; her face was in profile, its fine chiseling forced up by a faded purple curtain behind her, which harmonized agreeably with the straw-colored dress that fell about her figure in graceful lines. As it happened, Beatrice was feeling somewhat embarrassed. She had a favor to ask, and she shrank with unusual timidity from placing herself in the man's debt. She believed that he had saved her brother's life and afterward rendered him some valuable service; but he had done this of his own accord, and it would be different were he to comply with her request.

"You have been urging some plans on Kenwyne and Broadwood," she began.

"You have heard about that! However, they didn't need urging; they agreed with me about the necessity for the thing."

"It's possible." There was a touch of haughtiness in Beatrice's tone. "Ralph Kenwyne has always been something of a revolutionary; and we know where Broadwood gets his ideas."

"From his wife? You can't expect me to condemn them. She was brought up as I was and thinks as I do."

Beatrice saw she was not beginning well and changed her ground.

"After all, that's not an important point. I suppose you know my father is bitterly opposed to your plans?"

"I was afraid so. It's unfortunate."

"Then can't you see that it would be better to give them up?"

Harding felt disturbed but determined. He was keenly anxious to please the girl, but to yield in this matter would be to act against his principles. She did not know what she was asking.

"No," he said; "I can't see that."

"Do you consider it good taste to encourage our friends to thwart their acknowledged leader?"

"It looks bad, as you put it," Harding replied. "For all that, a leader's business is to lead. He can't keep his followers standing still when they want to move on. Their wishes must be respected. Despotic authority's out of date."

"What is the use of choosing a ruler if he isn't to be obeyed?" she said haughtily.

"It sounds logical," Harding replied; "but it doesn't always work."

Beatrice was struggling hard with her wounded pride. Although on the whole broadminded, she had inherited some of the convictions of her caste; and, being the only daughter of the head of the settlement, she had been treated with more deference by the men at Allenwood than was perhaps good for her. It had cost her an effort to ask a favor from Harding, but she had not doubted the result, and his refusal was a shock. That the man who now proved obdurate had boldly shown his admiration for her, made it worse. Yet, because she believed her cause was good, she determined to disregard her injured feelings.

"If you persist in your plans, it will hurt Colonel Mowbray, and lead to dissention here," she argued. "Why must you try to bring in these changes? We have done very well as we are."

He rose and stood with his hand on a chair-back, looking steadily at her; and she noticed with half-grudging approval the strength of his figure and the resolution in his quiet, brown face.

"The trouble is that you can't continue as you are. Allenwood's threatened from outside, and I'm not sure it's safe within."

"Is that your business?"

The cold pride in her tone hurt, for it implied that she regarded him as an intruding stranger.

"In a way, yes; but we'll let that drop. If I could have pleased you by giving up a personal advantage, I'd have gladly done so; but this is a bigger thing. It isn't a matter of being content with a smaller crop; it's letting land that was meant to be worked lie idle, wasting useful effort, and trying to hold up a state of things that can't last. If I give way, I'll be going back on all I believe in and betraying a trust."

Beatrice laughed scornfully; and saw him wince.

"I want you to understand what's behind this movement," he continued gravely. "Your people can't keep Allenwood for a place of amusement much longer, and some of those who see this have asked my help. I've promised and I can't draw back. Besides, to break new soil and raise good wheat where only the wild grasses grow is the work I was meant for; the one thing worth while I'm able to do. I'd feel mean and ashamed if I held off and let the waste go on."

"Of course, it would be too great a sacrifice to make for a prejudiced old man, who has nevertheless always placed the good of Allenwood first, and an inexperienced, sentimental girl!"

Harding flushed at the taunt. It was very hard to displease her, but he would not be justified in giving way, and he thought that later, when she understood better, she would not blame him for being firm. Moreover, his temper was getting short.

"That's neither kind nor fair," he said. "Separate or together, your people and I must move on. We can't stand still, blocking the way, and defying Nature and the ordered procession of things. This land was made for the use of man, and he must pay with hard work for all it gives him."

"I am sorry you take that view; but there seems nothing further to be said." She rose as she spoke. "I'm afraid it's impossible that we should agree."

He left at once, and drove home in a downcast mood. No doubt, he had disappointed her badly. He had not even had the tact to make his refusal graceful; she must think him an iconoclastic boor, driven by a rude hatred of all that she respected. Still, he had tried to be honest; he could not shirk the task he was clearly meant to do. The struggle, however, had tried him hard, and he drove with set lips and knitted brows across the great white waste, oblivious of the biting cold.

CHAPTER X
THE CASTING VOTE

"Much the same as the rest of us."

"The rest of us! Then you don't claim to be different from the general prairie crowd?"

Harding frowned.

"I suppose I wouldn't mind being thought the best farmer in the district," he said; "but that's all the distinction I care about."

"You'll get that easy enough. You've gone ahead fast, Craig, and you're going farther; but you may have some trouble on the way. When a man breaks a new trail for himself and leaves other men behind, it doesn't make them fond of him."

"Oh, I have no delusions on that point. To attain success, one cannot hope to travel a balmy road."

"Why do you want to rope in the Allenwood boys?" Devine asked curiously.

"The reason's plain. You and I might make the steam-plow pay, but the price is high, and we can't do much more alone. If you want the best economy in farming, you must have cooperation. It's easier to buy expensive tools if you divide the cost."

"I see that. But have you no other reason? You don't feel that you'd like to make friends with these people and, so to speak, have them acknowledge you?"

"No," said Harding firmly. Since his talk with Beatrice he had felt a curious antagonism to the whole Allenwood settlement.

It was too cold to talk much, and the men drove on in silence until the lights of the Grange twinkled out across the plain. Ten minutes later they entered the big hall, and Harding cast a quick glance about. He noticed the clusters of wheat-ears and the big moose-heads on the wall, the curious Eastern weapons and the English sporting guns that glistened beneath them, and the fine timbering of the pointed roof. He did not think there was another homestead to compare with this between Winnipeg and the valleys of British Columbia; but it was the company that seized his attention. It looked as if every man in the settlement were present; and they were worth the glance he gave them. Dressed with picturesque freedom, they were, for the most part, handsome men, with powerful frames and pleasant, brown faces. Harding knew they had courage and intelligence, yet he felt that there was something lacking—something hard to define. He thought of them as without the striving spirit; as too content.

One or two gave him a welcoming smile, and there was a slight general movement when he sat down. Mowbray, however, looked up with some surprise from the head of the long table.

"After certain favors Mr. Harding has done me, it would be singularly inappropriate if I questioned his coming here as my guest. On the other hand, the presence of any outside person at our council is irregular."

"May I explain?" Kenwyne said. "Mr. Harding and his partner came by my invitation to give us some information about matters of which he knows more than any one else. They will, of course, take no other part in the proceedings."

Mowbray bowed. "I am satisfied. Mr. Harding will understand that a president must show due regard to form."

His manner was courteous, yet Harding was conscious of a subtle antagonism between them. To some extent, it was personal, but its roots struck deeper; it was the inevitable hostility between the old school and the new. Mowbray was a worthy representative of the former. Fastidiously neat in his dress, though his clothes were by no means of the latest cut, and sitting very upright, he had an air of dignity and command. He might be prejudiced, but it was obvious that he was neither dull nor weak.

"We have," he said, taking up a paper, "a motion of some importance before us. It is proposed that we consider the advisability of cooperating with Messrs. Harding and Devine: first, in the purchase and use of a steam-plow; second, in the organization of a joint creamery; and, third, in opening a sales office in Winnipeg or other convenient center for the disposal of stock and general produce."

Putting down the paper he looked round with an ironical smile.

"You will observe that the scheme is by no means modest; indeed, it strikes me as the most revolutionary project that has ever been suggested in this place. It is nevertheless my duty to ask those responsible for it to say what they can in its favor."

Kenwyne rose with a composed expression.

"Briefly, the advantages are these. With mechanical power we can plow more land than at present and at a reduced cost."

"That is far from certain," Mowbray declared. "We cannot take it for granted. These machines go wrong."

"With your permission, I will ask Mr. Harding to give us some figures later. We are missing opportunities by being content with rearing only a limited number of beef cattle. Winnipeg and Brandon are growing fast; new towns are springing up along the railroad, and there will soon be a demand for dairy produce that will counterbalance the rather frequent loss of a wheat crop."

"It will mean more paid hands and working all the land," some one objected.

"Exactly. I may add that this is our aim. The land must be developed."

There was a murmur of disapproval, but Kenwyne went on.

"Then there is reason to believe that we seldom obtain the prices we ought to get. Stockbuyers' profits and salesmen's charges are high, and we can't expect these gentry to look after our interests. We could best secure these by setting up an agency of our own, and hiring trained assistance. I'm afraid we cannot claim to be successful business men."

"If that claim is ever justified, you will have to choose another leader," Mowbray remarked. "This settlement was not founded with the object of making money. Now, Broadwood!"

Broadwood rose with a smile.

"We must all agree, sir, that there's not much danger of the object you mention being realized. No doubt, there are some to whom this doesn't matter, but the rest are confronted with the necessity for making a living, and I suspect that one or two have the trouble I've experienced in paying my storekeepers' bills."

"Don't be personal!" some one called out.

"That strikes me as foolish," Broadwood retorted. "One can't help being personal. We all know one another; we use one another's horses and borrow one another's cash; and it's the necessity for doing the latter that I wish to obviate. We all know our neighbors' needs, and I want to show you how they can be supplied."

He had struck the right note with his easy humor; but Harding saw that Mowbray was not pleased.

"You don't need much," one cried amid laughter. "You got a bumper harvest, and cut down your subscription to the hounds."

Broadwood smiled.

"I came out of the rut and worked. A rash experiment, perhaps, but it didn't prove so harrowing as I feared; and there's some satisfaction in having no debts. But my point is that you can't do much without proper implements, and I feel that we'll have to get them. The proposal I've the pleasure of seconding, shows you how."

He sat down, and Mowbray looked up with a sarcastic smile.

"Broadwood's remarks don't take us much farther; he seems careful to avoid practical details. Now the first thing I notice about this scheme is that it is founded on combination. Its proposers are right in assuming the necessity for this, if their purpose is to secure economical success; but such success can be bought at too high a price. Carry the cooperative idea out to its logical conclusion, and a man becomes a machine. He must subordinate his private judgment, he cannot choose his course, all his movements must be regulated by central control. Then you may get efficiency, but you destroy character, independence, personal responsibility, all the finest attributes of human nature. You may object that I am exaggerating; that nobody wants this. The danger is that if you decide to go some distance, you may be driven farther than you think. Then, Allenwood was founded to encourage individual liberty—that settlers here might live a healthy life, free from economic pressure; on their own land, farming it like gentlemen, and not with bitter greed; enjoying the wind and sunshine, finding healthy sport. We demand a high standard of conduct, but that is all. We are bound to one another by community of ideals and traditions, and not by the hope of dividends."

There was an outbreak of applause; then Kenwyne rose.

"The difficulty is that to lead our own lives, regardless of changing times and in defiance of commercial principles, needs larger means than most of us possess. The plain truth is that Allenwood has been living upon its capital, drawing upon resources that cannot be renewed, and we must presently face the reckoning. Some of us see this clearly, and I think the rest are beginning to understand. If you have no objections, sir, I will ask Mr. Harding to give us some figures."

Harding got up and stood silent for a moment or two, conscious that all present were watching him. He felt that they were keeping the ring, and that the affair had developed into a fight between himself and Mowbray. Harding regretted this, because the Colonel's hostility would make the secret hope he cherished very difficult to realize; but he could not act against his convictions. He stood for progress—blundering progress, perhaps—and Mowbray for the preservation of obsolete ways and means; the conflict was inevitable. Harding might lose the first round, but he knew that the result was certain. Vast, insuperable forces were arrayed against his antagonist.

"To begin with, what do you expect to gain by persuading us to join you?" Mowbray asked.

"A saving of expense and the help of the only neighbors I have at present," Harding answered. "My partner and I are ready to go on alone, but we can't hope to do much unassisted."

Opening the papers he had brought, he read out particulars of the cost of plowing by horses and by steam; then statistics of American and Canadian grain production and the fluctuations of prices.

"Where did you get the figures about the mechanical plowing?" Mowbray asked in an ironical tone. "From the makers?"

"In the first place. I afterward checked them by information from farmers who have used the machines."

"Very wise! These implements are expensive. Can you guarantee that they will work satisfactorily?"

"That would be rash. I expect a certain amount of trouble."

"Skilled mechanics' wages are high. Do you recommend our keeping a man here in case things go wrong?"

"Certainly not! If you buy a steam-plow, you must learn to keep it in order."

Broadwood, picturing the Colonel sprawled under an oily engine, battling with obstinate bolts, laughed aloud.

Mowbray frowned.

"Granting the accuracy of your statistics," he said, "you seem to have proved the economy of mechanical power, when used on a large scale. But we are not agreed upon the necessity for such a thing."

This was the opening Harding had waited for and he seized it quickly.

"At present wheat is your mainstay. How many of you will find it profitable to grow at the current price?"

"Not many, perhaps," Mowbray admitted; and the disturbed expression of others bore out the statement. "But is there adequate ground for concluding it will remain at an abnormally low price?"

"It will not remain there. For the next few years it will go down steadily."

There was a murmur of disagreement; and Mowbray smiled.

"I presume you are willing to justify this gloomy forecast?" he said.

"I'll try," answered Harding. "You have seen what one railroad has done for Western Canada. It has opened up the country, brought wide tracts of land into cultivation, and largely increased the wheat crop. That increase will go on, and you will presently see rival lines tapping new belts of fertile soil."

"But do you imply that the grain output of Western Canada can force down prices?" a man asked with a scornful laugh. "We have all Europe for a market. I imagine they'll use what we can send them in a few big English towns."

It was obvious that the question met with approval, and Harding quietly searched the faces turned toward him. He belonged by right of birth to these men's caste, but he did not want them to own him. He asked their help, but he could do without it, though they could not dispense with his. Their supineness irritated him; they would not see the truth that was luminously clear. He felt a strange compulsion to rouse and dominate them.

"The Canadian output will soon have to be reckoned with," he said. "In the meantime, it's the effect of a general expansion throughout the world that I'm counting on. What has been done in Canada is being done everywhere. Look abroad and see! The American middle West linked up with new railroads, grain pouring out to New York and Baltimore; Californian wheat shipments doubling, and the Walla country in Oregon all one grain belt. They're tapping new soil in Argentina; Australia and Chile are being exploited wherever they get rain; and British irrigation works in Egypt and India will have their effect."

Gerald Mowbray spoke for the first time.

"One feels tempted to inquire where Mr. Harding secured this mass of information?" he said, with a slight curl of his lips.

"You can get a good deal for a few dollars' subscription to New York papers," Harding answered dryly. "When the snow's deep, men with no amusements have time to read. But that's beside the question. I must now ask you to consider the improvement in transport. Locomotives are doubling their size and power; you have seen the new grain cars. The triple-expansion engine is cutting down ocean freight, making distance of no account. All countries must compete in the world's markets with the cheapest grower. To survive in the struggle that's coming, one must use efficient tools."

"And what will happen after the markets have been flooded?" a man asked derisively.

"Then," said Harding gravely, "when the slack and careless have been killed off there will be a startling change. The farming expansion can't last; there's not enough accessible virgin land to draw upon. American shipments will fall off; the demands of the world's growing population will overtake the supply. Those who live through the fight will find riches thrust upon them."

"We are losing sight of the general produce and dairy scheme," Mowbray remarked. "Have you anything to tell us on this point?"

"Not much. Winnipeg is growing, so is Brandon, and they'll provide good markets for farming truck; but the country that will ask for most is British Columbia."

"Rather a long way off!" somebody commented.

"Wait and see," said Harding. "They're opening new mines and sawmills all over the province; Columbia's aim is industrial, not agricultural, and most of the land there is rock and forest. They're cut off from the Pacific States by the tariff, and naturally they'll turn to us across the Rockies. I foresee our sending general produce west instead of east. Now, although I've taken up too much time, will you give me a minute to read some figures?"

He paused, and with an almost involuntary burst of applause they bade him go on. The statistics he gave were telling, clinching his arguments, and when he sat down there was a deep murmur of approval from opponents as well as friends. The breadth of his views and his far-reaching knowledge appealed to them. It was the first time they had heard anything like this at Allenwood.

After waiting a few moments for silence, Mowbray turned to Devine.

"Have you anything of interest to tell us?"

"Well," Devine said with simple earnestness, "I was raised at a prairie homestead. I began to drive horses soon after I could walk, and ever since I've been living on the soil. That's how I know that in the long run scratch-farming will never pay. With Nature up against us, we can take no chances when we break new land, for she's mighty hard to beat, with her dry seasons, harvest frost, blight, and blowing sand. We've got to use the best of everything man can invent and, if we're to stand for a run of bad times, get the last cent's value for every dollar. Any machine that won't give you the top output must be scrapped: you must get your full return for your labor. Slouching and inefficiency lead you straight into the hands of the mortgage man."

When he sat down, Mowbray smiled.

"Our visitors have certainly given us food for thought," the Colonel said. "I offer them our thanks, and should now be glad to hear any fresh opinions."

Several men spoke; some with warmth and some with careless humor.

"As we don't get much further, we will take a vote," Mowbray suggested. "I will move the resolution as it stands. Though this has not been our usual custom, you are entitled to a ballot."

There was silence for a moment. Mowbray's views were known, and the men shrank from wounding him, for he did not bear opposition well. For all that, with a fastidious sense of honor, they disdained the shield of the secret vote.

"I think we will stick to the show of hands," Kenwyne replied.

"Very well," said Mowbray. "For the motion!"

Harding, glancing round the room, was surprised and somewhat moved to notice that Lance's hand went up among the rest. The boy had voted against his father. So far as Harding could judge, half the men were in favor of the scheme.

"Against the motion!"

The hands were raised, and Mowbray counted them with care.

"Equal, for and against," he announced. "I have a casting vote, and I think the importance of the matter justifies my using it. I declare the motion lost."

There was an impressive silence for a few moments; then Broadwood spoke.

"Although we have decided against going on with the scheme, as a body, I take it there is nothing to prevent any individuals who wish to do so joining in Mr. Harding's venture?"

"I must leave you to decide how far such action is in good taste, or likely to promote the harmony which has been the rule at Allenwood. Now I think we can close the meeting."

When the company dispersed, Harding, Devine, and Broadwood drove home with Kenwyne. The Scotch housekeeper opened the door for them, and handed Kenwyne the mail which had been brought in his absence. He tore open a newspaper and turned to the quotations.

"Wheat down sixpence a quarter at Liverpool," he said. "It will have its effect in Chicago and Winnipeg." He dropped the paper and took off his fur coat. "I suppose you're going on with the plan, Harding?"

"The plow's ordered."

"You're a hustler," Broadwood laughed; "but you mustn't make the pace too hot. We've been used to going steady. What did you think of the meeting?"

"It went better than I expected."

"We'd have had a majority only that they were afraid of the Colonel; and I don't blame them. In a way, he made a rather pathetic figure, trying to sweep back the tide. The old man has courage; it's a pity he won't see that his is a lost cause."

"He can't," said Kenwyne gravely; "and we must realize that."

"Then are you going to let him ruin you?" Devine asked.

"I hope not; but we all feel that we can't disown our leader," Broadwood answered. "I dare say you can understand that we have a hard row to hoe."

"Well, the creamery scheme will have to be dropped," Kenwyne said; "but there'll be plenty of work for the new plow."

"Yes," Harding replied. "If all the rest stand out, Devine and I can keep it busy."

"How much land do you intend to break?"

Harding told him, and Kenwyne looked astonished.

"You're a bold man. If it's not an impertinence, can you finance the thing?"

"It will take every dollar I have."

"And if you lose? The spring rains are sometimes hard enough to uproot the young blades; or a summer hailstorm or drought may come and ruin the crop."

Harding shrugged his shoulder.

"Those things must be considered, of course. But one never gets very far by standing still and waiting for a disaster that may never occur. 'Nothing ventured, nothing gained,'" he quoted with a smile.